#not fem aligned

[vmpssd]

character : ivan

contains : fluff, teasing, waist-grabbing, nwlnw, not for fem-aligned public, suggestive, interrupting ivan's training.

deliberately, you would tip-toe to the white room, minimalist drawings and patterns on the walls when you breathed, exhaled and started to hold it in, certain that nothing would distract ivan from his daily training sessions

wood-made, the floor beneath the quiet of your steps would be on your side today, not even a single crack being heard when you got to stand behind the owner of the hypnotizing,

yet, deep voice that almost distracted you from the whole focus of why you came to his room during busy hours,

ivan was wearing something specifically intriguing today.

normally, you wouldn't mind, his physique would make all clothing he ever put on look gorgeous and ivan was used to the staring,

of course, the only eyes he would get flustered to were yours, which seemed to accentuate his every curve and today was no different

with your tongue hanging next to your lips with a smile resting there, the tip of your fingers tingling with excitement for the forbidden, you reached out below the man's torso slowly,

a silent ‘gotcha’ surging with the soft hum of the air conditioner on the room, fingers gently taking the shape of ivan’s waist in, now, your palms

your back straightened when your gaze moved, watching how ivan relaxed under the touch of your fingers and the small, almost imperceptible spasms of slight shock when you tightened your grip on both sides of his waist

smooth, even his outfit couldn't hide how perfect he was to grab, your fingers dancing on the edges as your chest was pressed against his back

chuckling, ivan would breath out to the caress going down to his hips now, pretending that he would let it go unnoticed when everything you wanted was a reaction from him

not turning to face your amused smirk at his features softening to the feeling of your gaze watching him, ivan’s voice would find its way to him, ‘hello there,’ leaving his lips, mostly staring at the wall, having a break from his training, ‘thought’ you were busy?’

‘mh, wanted to see you,’ is what you replied, fingertips pressing down on the fabric as you inhaled ivan’s fragrance without leaning forward, ‘you should wear those more.’

upon your words, ivan’s smile turned to a smirk, tilting his head back, ‘oh,’ the realization of it getting to him, his tone with a harmless teasing, ‘why that?’

for once, you would bite down on your lip, asking yourself about what you would say and how ivan would see it as. after much of internal dialogue, you mumbled out, ‘showin’ your curves more,’ silence, before you let it all out, ‘i like your waist.’

ivan’s body reacted to the possessive grip on him, his gaze going to places known to both, smiling down to where you had further touched him countless nights before.

your nails brushing against ivan’s pants, playing with the small belt holding them when ivan gently pushed his devices away from him, his earphones off and placed on the table to his right side,

warm, strong hands involving yours when ivan encouraged you to not keep your desires at bay, the soft fabric of his clothes under your palms.

whispering, ivan had no tiredness in his voice to come to a sudden conclusion of resting with you, looking at you over his shoulder, ‘i should take a break.’

‘you should,’ you whispered back, a warmness spreading on your chest before a hint of something more intimate flashed in your eyes, ‘sorry for disturbing today. i’ll make it up for you.’

ivan’s voice reached your ears, low but slight mocking when not losing its caring, ‘aw, don't worry,’ hands making you take yours off him before turning to you, his thumb on your lower lip, ‘you will.’

latest work.

masterlist in progress.

[aropride]

are they really “fem presenting” or do they just have boobs. are they really “masc presenting” or do they just have facial hair

[thriftybruce]

experimenting with a different brush/warm up

[trans-androgyne]

genuine question: why do people so viscerally react to TME/TMA? i've always thought it was weird when they say things like "its a new binary" or "some people don't fit neatly in the categories!!!" since those same things can be applied to hair color. and if you don't fit neatly between brunette and blonde you are still blonde. it doesnt mean hair color labels are invalid

Hi there. "Hair color labels" are not a very accurate comparison here because we are talking about complex experiences with and relationships to the pervasive systems of sexism and transphobia rather than one fairly simple external trait. But even then, we have terms like "dirty blonde" and "light brown" (and a billion other in-betweens) for a reason. If we are going to use hair color, tme/tma is more like insisting the only two hair colors out there are blonde and brown--no black, gray, red, colored, etc. and no in-betweens--and that all blondes have privilege over all brunettes.

Its users insist that tme/tma is not a binary because they know binaries are flawed, but it very much is one. Under this framework, you cannot be both tme and tma or somewhere in between tme and tma--you can only be one or the other, hence it is a clear binary. It gets described as a "new binary" in particular because there are many people who tie it directly to agab, saying that everyone afab is inherently tme, no nuance allowed there either. I have primarily seen it used in an identity-based manner, focusing more on how you see yourself than how bigots and systems of oppression see you.

Notably, it is also not only used to describe a perceived difference in experiences (that tma people experience certain things much more often than tme people) but specifically to say that tme people universally have gendered privilege and power over tma people, while not accounting for any power differences that come with being or not being cis, perisex, gender-conforming, etc. -- only whether one can be considered basically transfeminine or not. Powerjacketing--attributing power to marginalized groups that they do not actually have access to--is genuinely harmful. This binary has lead to a lot of "punching up at tmes," including fueling the rhetoric that "tme trans people" cannot experience their own kind of oppression, and would only ever say they do to invalidate transmisogyny theory. There are ways to unite people with a common experience without sorting things into oppressor/oppressed, like how Jules Gill-Peterson uses "trans-feminized" to describe the whole spectrum of folks singled out by the system of transmisogyny.

[lazycranberrydoodles]

diversity win! your doomed greek tragedy ship is genderfluid!

[anatomiau]

Scrolled through your blog, no anime content. The easiest way to see if a AFAB fem aligned blogger is Latinx is if they obsess over anime. You do not. You have been catfishing as Latinx for donations, this is sick. I would have never sent you money if I knew you weren't Latinx. I'm going to write a callout post, enjoy your blog while you still can. 

[rotruff]

night so long you start thinking of your f/o taking care of you so you can just lay down . night so long you start thinking abt them taking off coats and unzipping dresses or unbuttoning shirts and being careful when they take off any makeup or glasses and giving gentle little reminders when they hand over any medications or even just a glass of water to make sure you've had some.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hi Frosty!!!! I just saw you had requests open! Is this true?

If so.... could I please have a brief....Hunter reaction to an accidental seeing reader in a wedding dress? I'm a sucker for this and will reread this trope over and over redone.

Thank you ❤️ and it's ok if not, just discard this then! Love your writing!

Alignment Events [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: You and the tattooed sergeant of Clone Force 99 have caught unexpected feelings for one another towards the end of the Clone Wars following a chance meeting in the middle of a friend’s special night. Following the end of the war, your friend has chosen to get married to her soldier sweetheart on her adoptive home world of Naboo. You and Hunter are attending as part of the happy couple’s wedding party right around the time your feelings have gotten a little more serious for each other. While being involved in the preparation means there could be a fair amount of rumination on the future of your relationship, what you don’t expect is how much a fun bit of playful dress-up could end up changing your life.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader. Republic Victory AU (so no Order 66). Limited Mando’a (pet names and familial terms). Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Reference/allusion to alcoholic beverages. Iler Ci is an OC who serves as Reader’s friend for the story. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,926

Call it what you like - the Force, an alignment of the planets and stars, maybe fate - the galaxy had a funny way of bringing people together. 

Meeting someone special in the middle of the Clone Wars had been an unexpected but pleasant happenstance. It hadn’t been in your immediate plans to make any changes to your dating status, but the first time you crossed paths with Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 amidst what would later become a celebratory night out with some friends, there was something about him you simply couldn’t resist. 

A busier night than most, clumsy encounters and a spilt strong drink were to be expected. Trying to cross from one end of the cantina to the other, one did a fair bit of running into happy couples and hopeful romantics.

Hunter had been neither. 

There had always been the fleeting flirts and flings, but never anything serious and steady for either of you. There were no qualms about dating statuses, feelings of loneliness or even the emeralds of envy while in the company of partnered people. 

Not until the night you met. 

It would be a chance meeting. You and several friends were meant to be working, but the soldier sweetheart to a mutual friend had reached out and asked for help planning a special surprise earlier that morning. It would mean losing shifts and owing favors due to the last-minute nature, but hearing what he had in mind, you and your friends were willing to do anything.

Lane was a pilot in the Grand Army of the Republic, and had been in a long-distance yet serious relationship for some time now with your friend, Cici. They met while Lane had been on an assignment near Naboo almost a year ago. Emboldened by some of his brothers, he’d tried asking her out after a helping or two of liquid courage, but it must have been stronger than he anticipated. Lane maintains that while he recalls her politely declining the first request, he has no memory of her agreeing to get some food instead, or how she had apparently “helped” him back to the barracks. 

In the morning, he would find a note, and only then in his sobered state would he realize the Pantoran woman he had been trying to charm all night was none other than Iler Ci. For all her humility and generosity, many would not suspect that she was the heiress to a well-known family of artists on Naboo, by whom she was adopted and raised after her birth on Pantora. 

Thanks for a nice dinner and lovely company, Lane. Perhaps, if you ever remember where to find it while you’re still here, we can go to that Pantoran place you recommended? :) - Iler “Cici” Ci (PS: Don’t forget to take something for the headache.)

Though he would be reassigned before they could have a more proper date, Cici and Lane have been smitten with each other since. 

It would be in front of a full house at 79’s that you and your friends helped Lane propose to his sweetheart, mere months before the end of the Clone Wars. It had never been so loud within the bar as the moment the pilot dropped down on one knee in front of his brothers and other patrons to present Cici with a ring someone had fashioned for him that very morning. 

Soldiers in deployments of every color cheered for their brother when she agreed to marry him, and had drawn in from every corner to congratulate them. Marriages among Clones were less of an officially recognized thing, at the time, but Lane had been too eager, too deeply in love to care. The same could be said for Cici; it would not matter that it would only be another few months before the war was inexplicably over. 

Among the last to offer congratulations were five men, each of them clad in grayscale, non-standard armor accented in red. 

Standing ahead of the rest, a man somewhat shorter than Lane approached and put his hand forward. “Good to see you again, Lane. I came to offer our congratulations on behalf of the Bad Batch.” His handshake seemed quite firm. The four men behind him offered their respective greetings after that - two waved (one half-heartedly) while another merely nodded, and the fourth offered the only other handshake, even firmer than the first’s. 

In spite of having most of the feeling squeezed out of his hand mere moments ago, Lane was almost excited, arguably starstruck, by who had come to offer their congratulations to him and Cici. He would make eager introductions to everyone. 

“This is Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair of Clone Force 99. They’re the ones who helped us pull off that crazy rescue mission two months ago!”

Quite honestly you missed most of the short conversation between Lane and the sergeant as the other four went down the line and got everyone’s name; exchanging nice to meet you!-s with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness, shaking hands as they went. At the other end of the line, you were the last to personally greet each member of the squadron. 

Introductions had been going smoothly until it came time to shake Hunter’s hand. Feeling somewhat caught under umber brown eyes, you inexplicably tripped while taking that half-step forward to better shake his hand. To your great fortune, Hunter’s reflexes were sharp; though it proved to be a slightly embarrassing method—strong arms laced across your back that brought the two of you chest-to-chest—you were caught before you would have been seriously hurt. 

You could only offer a stammering apology, your composure rather rattled as you all but gawked up into the skull-tattooed face of the sergeant. There was a gentleness to the way he eased you off his chest only once he’s certain you’re unharmed, a softness in the way his aquiline nose bunched as the corners of his mouth turned up in a warm smile. 

In a voice smokier than the alleyway behind 79’s, he made a small joke in hopes of lightening the mood. “So long as you’re alright, there’s no need to be sorry about falling for me, mesh’la. I’m rather flattered.” It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but the level of confidence and self-assurance he has came as a surprise at the time.

Flirting came with the territory at 79’s; passing advances were to be expected now and again from the GAR’s soldiers by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. But you found yourself especially charmed by the sergeant. 

It would only be the beginning.

Though he may have been the one to make the joke about you falling for him, the truth was Hunter found himself equally smitten with you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Comm numbers had been exchanged, but a bulk of the communication was done through Lane for the first few weeks following that special night at 79’s. 

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Hunter was trying to keep you closer than just the periphery of his life; it isn’t every day that Lane finds himself telling you that he’s pretty sure Hunter went out of his way to get a bottle of your absolute favorite body fragrance from a crowded Outer Rim market because he recognized it by smell alone (and heard a rumor it would be discontinued on Coruscant soon).

“He must really like you.”

A month out from the end of the war, there is plenty of accumulated evidence that things are looking a little more serious between the two of you. The near-daily electronic exchanges are a good start. But it’s more than that, of course. Your respective companions have been privy to plenty of instances where you’ve thought about the other, and not to mention the interactions outside of the healthy helping of mutual flirting. 

Like the night you had asked Hunter what his favorite mission so far was, his brothers sent you multiple pictures of him—all from different angles, all varying in quality—around their tiny attack shuttle, working on his response for at least an hour or more. Bathed in the blue glow of his datapad, smiling softly to himself. 

Or the time you were enjoying a night in with some friends when Hunter would make a near desperate request for holofilm recommendations. They had strict orders to wait out bad weather before returning to command, so they were looking for something Tech could “borrow” in the meantime. There had been much hemming and hawing about certain types of media in the recommendation list you were compiling for him, but your friends gave you encouragement to include them.

“Promise you won’t laugh if half of it’s for kids?”

“Promise. My vode, too.” 

Hunter may not have understood what it was about those movies that appealed to you right away, but he kept his promise, and filed the list away for another time, putting it to use later.

A month out from the end of the war, he asks to meet you at 79’s the very same night he and his brothers are due to be planetside. They have some important, short-term business they have to take care of; it’ll take a day at most. It could be his only chance to see you in person after all these weeks of long-distance communications. To great delight, you have agreed to meet him once you get off work, so long as he doesn’t mind that you’re in your work uniform. 

You could have worn a full sleep set for all he cared, he would be just as glad to see you.

You’ve beaten him to the bar by a matter of fifteen minutes, finding yourself lucky with skylane traffic for a change. Taking advantage of your extra time, you first make use of the ladies’ refresher, cleaning up your hair and any makeup applied that morning before settling in to wait for him. Securing a two-person table, you wait out any remaining time by glancing over a few personal messages. It won’t be long before Hunter meets up with you. 

Pay stub. Spam. Spam. Coupons. Work reminders. Delivery notice. Ooh, good coupons! More spam. Cici and Lane’s wedding plans. 

Intrigued, you open the mass message and begin to skim. The happy couple is thinking of tying the knot somewhere large enough to include everyone, having had some concerns that a marriage office here on Coruscant would prove too claustrophobic. Instead, to make sure no one is left out, they’ll be using property within Cici’s family - a charming lakefront villa on Naboo. 

You don’t get any farther than that before Hunter turns up, brothers in tow. 

Uh oh. Should you have gotten a bigger table?

Before anything can be done, Hunter takes the opposite seat at the table, followed by Wrecker and Tech. They each say hello before the latter carefully begins tipping a few small packages and envelopes out of the former’s pack onto the table. Two small, neatly wrapped packages and a handful of envelopes aren’t a lot of items, but it’s certainly more than you expected. Once everything is laid out on the table beside your bag, Wrecker offers encouragement over his shoulder as the two of them quickly take their leave.

“Have fun, Hunter! You’ll do fine!”

The sergeant must be nervous. Tugging the crimson cloth keeping the curtain of brown curls off his neck and out of his face, Hunter clears his throat before doing his best to flash you a smile, carefully setting a third package on the tabletop. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on short notice, cyar’ika.” More tugging, this time at the neckline of the bodysuit under his armor (which appears to be glistening) catches your eye. You gloss over the Mando’a for sweetheart and darling for the moment realizing he must have quickly wiped down his full kit before meeting you here. 

He not only called you sweetheart, but he cleaned up for you? Aww. 

You chuckle softly. “Of course! I see I’m not the only one who brought something either.” You pull your bag closer, wishing for the moment you had time to wrap any of it. It won’t matter. Hunter appears surprised to hear you have something for him, and offers you the chance to go first, if you’d like. You accept, reaching into your bag to pull ten identical items out. Two are offered to Hunter. “These are for you. I have more for your brothers.” Special micro-weave cleaning cloths from an electronics store are all you have to offer currently, your less practical gifts are either sitting in your apartment or still out for delivery.

Hunter’s nervous energy dissipates as he smiles, dumbfounded. “Guessing you got these for us because we ran out? That was… rather kind of you. Really.” Rubbing the back of his neck in thought, he debates which of the items on the table you should open first. Should he give you the largest package, the one carefully balanced on his knees under the table? Should you start with something small, and leave the best for last? (He should have asked Tech what the best way to do this kind of thing was while they were still at the Marauder. But then again, Tech was busy wrapping everything in old schematic papers.)

Maybe it didn’t matter. Come to a decision, Hunter nudges the pile of envelopes closer to you. “Start with these,” he says. “My brothers got these for you.” Hunter knows he’s made the right call when your immediate response is a surprised “Really?” paired with a smile brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine. 

You carefully open one of the flat sleeves to find several stickers and a note inside. The short note is from Tech, explaining he’s taken some inspiration from “nat-born” trends seen on the holonet and everyone has found a handful of stickers you could use to decorate computer terminals or water canisters. 

The conclusion and postscript make you smile before you set the note aside and look over the modest assortment of stickers he’s given you. 

They are waterproof and weather resistant, so they should last quite a long time. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed the process of you and Hunter getting to know one another.  Postscript: I hope the butterflies will suffice since I was not certain if you have a favorite insect.

You see evidence of how much Hunter has shared about you in the types of stickers each of his brothers have collected for you. Tech’s butterflies are mostly in your favorite colors. Echo’s given you stickers relating to places you’ve been, and planets you have an interest in seeing one day. Wrecker’s envelope is the heaviest out of the bunch; his collection showcases popular characters from your favorite novels and shows, and a few stickers of your favorite snacks have been added for good measure. (The sticker that says “Make today a BLAST!” with a rough depiction of a thermal detonator is probably your favorite from him.) And finally from Crosshair, you were given a few generic yet nice designs of animals you’d discussed early on with Hunter.

The entire spread is swept into their respective envelopes once everything has been looked at, at which point you make sure to thank Hunter at the very least. You trust him to pass along the sentiment for you in case you don’t get a chance to speak to the rest of Clone Force 99 tonight. 

It was sweet of them to get you anything at all. You certainly didn’t expect it. When you agreed to meet with the sergeant you had really only expected one little token from their travels at the most, only possibly wrapped; nevermind three from Hunter alone and all of them wrapped. 

One thing was clear: Hunter really likes you. 

Between chilled drinks and appetizers, more alignment events occur as the two of you have an enjoyable night using the limited time available. Quite honestly, most of what you talk about goes by in a blur between each package you open. From one such parcel, the face of a favorite character from one of the holofilms previously recommended to him peers up at you in soft, fabric form. You recognize this rendition as one you already own, but you see that it’s been customized. 

Added in thread, little details that are not typically included in merchandise have been sewn in with such care to make the character more screen-accurate.  

“Wow… This must’ve taken a long time.”

Hunter’s chuckle is warm. “For me, yes. Fortunately it’s just an afternoon or two for Crosshair.” 

“He did a really good job. I have one just like it at home, but I like this one a lot more.”

There’s some congratulatory commotion from the booth where his brothers are sitting nearby, among which you hear an excited “did you hear that?!” from Wrecker. Hunter waits until they’ve mostly settled back down before encouraging you to open the second of the three packages, watching as you carefully tear back the wrapping. What you find inside thoughtfully ties into one of your hobbies, made from recently-carved wood. It’s a material not-often come by in the jewel of the Core Worlds, so the rich, earthy smell catches you off-guard, adding to your amazement. 

“I made this one myself.” He seems quite proud. And he should be.

Made with his own vibroknife, Hunter has given this gift a lot of care and attention. Wide, curious eyes trace the patterns of swirling grain as you repeatedly turn it over in your hands to admire from every angle. Everything had been sanded smooth, eliminating any stiff edges left by the process of whittling and carving.

You smile appreciatively before finding something to say. “I hope you didn’t get many splinters for all the trouble this must’ve been…”

Shoulders bounce in easy-going fashion. 

“A few. Nothing too bad.” 

That’s relieving to hear. “I’d feel bad if you went through all this trouble for me and ended up hurt.”

“And if I thought you were worth the trouble?”

Hunter’s question has left you stunned, dropping a delicate hush over the table. Hearing you’re worth the trouble - the possibility of pain - is a sincere sentiment you have not heard outside your social circle in quite some time, perhaps even longer than you realize. Feeling now is the right time, Hunter surrenders the last of the packages to you, the one he has been carefully guarding throughout the night. “I hope this is enough of an answer.” he says by way of answering your unspoken doubts. 

An answer that carries you through the months to come. It’s a soothing balm to the long distances apart before the war finds an end, and fuel for the even longer nights after. Every time doubt had crept in and questioned the validity of what you have with the sergeant clad in smoke-gray armor, you returned to the note taped to the bottle of perfume to reassure and reaffirm. 

In a promise more precious than pearl or priorite, your relationship will only ever move as fast as you’re comfortable with when Hunter asks to make things official. 

No amount of playful pushing will change his resolve when friends, family and brothers find themselves gathered on Naboo in preparation for Lane and Cici’s wedding some months later. 

There’s a fair bit of work to be done to get the lakeside villa gussied up for the big day, but with everyone pitching it, it’ll be over before you know it. There’ll be plenty of time for pre-wedding activities before it comes time to tie the knot. After a week of steady progress, there’s only one room left at this point.

One of the largest rooms on the property, Cici’s art studio overlooks a large, glimmering lake, so it should make for the perfect place to serve as the wedding hall once everything has been cleared out. It’s probably double, maybe triple, the size of an average apartment on the surface level of Coruscant, crammed with all manner of art supplies. Ignoring the fine layer of dust and disorganization, it feels akin to standing in an art store once Cici has unlocked the studio door and let everyone inside. 

“I guess my parents never used my studio while I was away. That means there’s more in there than I thought… But! Between all of us, this shouldn’t take too long. A day at most, I’m sure!”

Wrecker matches her enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit, Ms. Ci!” 

The workload is divided among the fifteen or so people who made it to Naboo ahead of time as equally as possible. You and some of Cici’s other friends from work would find yourself spectating the clean-out if you let the men of the GAR get away with it. They’re certainly efficient, and have made a real art of talking and tidying up at the same time, too. Any messing around is kept to a minimum, but the conversations are plenty playful as teams take boxes and crates full of studio items to temporary storage. 

Wrecker and Echo are joking with one of your coworkers as canvases (some as tall (or taller) than the demolition expert) get shuffled into the hallway. One of Lane’s fellow pilots has volunteered to help Tech pack the various paint tubes by general color. And though you could easily move things off of the high shelves on your own, with Hunter holding the rolling ladder steady, Crosshair will not take no for an answer and insists upon helping you dust everything down. 

“It will be safer to pass them down to me.” The fourth word escapes in a soft hiss, toothpick rolling with building irritation. “I don’t like the look of the fourth rung.”

It was a little wobbly when you’d climbed up the ladder, hoping to spare Hunter’s heightened senses from the dust… “Mind dusting them down for me, then?” Cross takes a decorative box set from you without a word, offering only a nod. 

“Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As a team of three, you make steady progress. Hunter braces the ladder while Crosshair takes care of the larger items, leaving you to take care of the shelves and any smaller items. You would prefer to focus on getting this done as quickly as possible, so you leave the talking to the brothers. Brushing down a decorative bust, the marksman tries getting under the sergeant’s skin with a sarcastic smirk. “Taking notes for later, vod?” A sweeping gesture to bring attention to all the wedding prep is pointedly ignored as Hunter pretends not to hear the teasing question. 

“You missed a spot, Cross.”

Maker, he loves you, make no mistake. Hunter is content for the time being to take all the time the galaxy gives him with you, for the time being. 

But it’s too early to be thinking about marriage for him, he tells himself.

Maybe one day.

When the last of the crates full of various odds and ends have been moved into storage, and any paint splatters have been scrubbed from the floor, all that remains for the happy couple and their wedding party is waiting for the big day. Time is idled away with plenty of sightseeing and general merrymaking, everyone forging new memories together in the welcome wake of a three-year war. 

Perhaps the most exciting of these pre-wedding events was Cici’s final dress-fitting, for which Cici’s mother invites you and the rest of Cici’s mutual friends into the studio late one evening, when the sky has turned dusky and dark. Large changing screens have been brought in for the fitting, and curtains have been drawn over most of the curtains that overlook the lake. 

As Cici and her mother duck behind one of the opaque dividers, most everyone’s attention is given to something off in the distance, likely a first time for many. The elaborate structure, another Nabooian villa, glows brilliantly on an island’s lakeshore in the twilight. 

“We were hoping everyone would get to see it lit up. That’s Varykino Villa. Isn’t it beautiful?” Cici swoons over the sound of rustling and shifting fabric. “Before a family friend gave my parents this place, he told us he spotted a private wedding on Varykino Island while looking across the water one day. That was, what, almost three years ago, mom?”

Mrs. Ci hums in confirmation. “Before he completely lost his eyesight. It was already starting to go, then, but he was pretty confident the man and the woman were alone, aside from the officiant. A golden protocol droid and a blue astromech were all they had for witnesses.” The last of the zippers are fastened as some speculate on the unusual choice in witnesses, and Cici steps out from behind the divider to a wave of fawning awe. 

Wreathed in a flowing dress, Cici looks like a princess with her long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. The cool-white fabric compliments the blue skin of her Pantoran heritage well. If she looks this good now, you can’t wait to see what she looks like once she’s gone through the hair and make-up process. She’d look like a proper queen. 

Smiling, she wrings her hands somewhat nervously. “Do you think Lane will like it?”  

It takes no time at all to reach a general consensus: how could he not? 

“Lane will love it when he sees you’ve recreated his armor pattern.” you tell her, gesturing to the beaded embellishments in the bodice. Paint patterns were just as personal as their names. Their colors were just as important too, if the way Hunter reacted to you wearing any combination of red and gray was any indication. 

He would tell you you looked good in just about anything, regardless of what you wore, but wearing anything in his colors was guaranteed to make your day extra special. 

Now that the final fitting has taken place, you expect to enjoy the refreshments and socialize for the rest of the night, but the fun is only beginning. 

Cici does more than just redressing in her previous clothing when she ducks behind the changing divider. With help from her mother, she wheels a large clothing rack covered by a large drop-cloth from behind the privacy screen. 

Curious murmurs ripple through your friend group. Is this what you think it is? 

“Are you ladies ready for a little fun?” 

The cover is removed with a flourish, revealing the rack packed full with all manner of fancy dresses and gowns in various sizes and styles. “There’s more behind the screen, too.” Cici promises, inviting you and everyone to look through all the fancy garments. A majority of them are wedding dresses, but intermixed you find ball gowns and cocktail attire in all manner of material. Chiffon, lace, satin, silk, tulle, velvet. The choices are near overwhelming. 

“Who’d like to go first?”

Down the hall from the primary studio, Hunter excuses himself from the bachelor party, a scribbled list of additional beverages he volunteered to get from cold storage in one hand with a promise he won’t take forever. From here, he can hear plenty of excited teasing and tittering from the studio. Sounded like the ladies were having a fun time, too. Good. 

Hunter starts down the hall, thinking he can slip past the partially open door unnoticed, but finds himself slowing when he hears your friends saying your name.

“Need help, honey?”

“Um, I think I got it!” you call back. 

Curiosity and temptation has gotten the better of him; from the door left ajar, Hunter peers into the studio. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Friends of yours are cloistered in a semicircle, trading giggles and whispers as their excitement builds. There’s several racks worth of expensive-looking dresses, and a changing screen in the corner. 

Mock fashion show? 

While Hunter has seen you wearing plenty of pretty and flattering things for everyday, casual events and special post-war celebrations, nothing would prepare him for the moment you step out from behind the privacy screen, clothed in a large, predominantly white dress. 

From the uncomplicated neckline and upper bodice of the a-line dress, the waist’s lacy accents hug you in all the right places before the skirt material fans out and creates a wide pool of silk at your feet, colors gradually building into a golden train with silken accents all the while. This doesn’t look like any sort of fancy party dress, as he initially assumed, but rather something bridal.

You’re modeling in a wedding dress. 

Hunter listens to the women peppering you with compliments, all while his heart flutters madly in his chest at the sight of you. Maker, you look beautiful. Radiant. 

You look like you could be the rest of his life. 

Hunter can’t explain it right now. He can’t tell what’s aligned, what’s fallen into place to make him so certain right now, but the feeling is unmistakable while he watches you show off the bridal gown to your friends. Spurred on by cheers and applause, you twirl and toss the fabric with bright laughter. You’re having so much fun. You have no idea he’s even there, practically entranced by you, envisioning your future, together.

One day, when the time is right, Hunter will make you a part of the rest of his life. 

Thank you so, so much for your patience, Dragon; I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for sending in such a cute request! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

[Masterlist] [TBB Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: OPEN]

[flowerakatsuka]

here's the sapphics i promised for yuri day!! 😊💕

[hiskillingjar]

say you'll be my darlin'

Relationship: Celia/MC Rating: Explicit Contains: Forcefeminisation, Misgendering, Object Insertion, (sort of) Dollificiation Length: 3900+ words

an INCREDIBLY fun request from @dwnrdsprl and my first TPOF fic ever! thank you so much, julian, i had a blast with this one <3

“Take your clothes off, pig.”

You didn't know how you'd gotten here.  

You were standing in an abandoned office, your surroundings smelling of dust and dank and mildew like it hadn’t been used for a while, dressed in a stranger's clothes, a shirt and tie and ill-fitting trousers that trailed on the ground (you were too short) and clung tightly around your waist (your hips were too big), all while a strange woman was threatening you with a taser and making you strip for her.

You remembered voices. You remembered the blurs of red and blue and the occasional flash of green, and then nothing but pain.

Your head and body were still throbbing from the jolt back to consciousness, but you swallowed tightly at the barked order, your eyes wide like a deer in the headlights and almost flinching out of your skin as you hurriedly reached down and hastily untucked your shirt from your waistband, shaking fingers fumbling with each of the delicate, little buttons after you untied your tie and tossed it aside.

Celia watched you carefully as you fumbled inelegantly with the buttons, her dark eyes narrowing scrutinously. She tapped the end of the taser against her thigh, silently threatening you if you didn’t obey her orders, her pantyhose creasing when she crossed her legs a little tighter and folded her arms over her full chest.

The gesture just made your hands shake even more, as you nervously wet your lips, your eyes on the floor.

“Stop shaking,” She ordered with a sharp frown. “And get to it. Faster.”

"Mmf," You bit your lip hard to resist a whimper, quickly moving your hands down to unbuckle your belt and pull down your trousers, your boxers damp with sweat. "S-Sorry..."

“You should be.” Celia snapped, her eyes narrowing further as she raked her gaze over your cowering form, eyeing the nervous sweat that was gathering on your trembling belly (what little she could see of it with your shirt still on), clearly relishing in just how quickly she had gotten you to obey.

That was made all the more obvious when she smirked as your trousers went down, an airy titter falling from her painted lips.

"You're disgusting, you know that. Like a cowering, sad little dog." She purred, her crossed legs bobbing idly against the desk she was atop of. "You're lucky it was me who picked you, you know. Otherwise, you wouldn't have stood a chance~"

Your jaw tensed a little at the memory (knowing that she was probably right, you wouldn't have survived whatever the other two lights had in store for you) and you stared down at the ground before stepping out of your trousers and pulling off your shoes (ugly, you would never have worn them yourself) with them.

"You look like you're trying not to piss yourself," She giggled even more, idly covering her mouth with another mean titter when your cheeks flushed a mortified red, before shaking her head, her luscious curls bouncing at the gesture. "Don't cry. It’s not fun if you break this early, and I'm easily bored."

She leaned a little closer, lowering the taser to her thigh as her fingers curled around her own chin, regarding you like a specimen under a microscope.

"Get on your knees for me."

You whimpered softly, holding onto the trailing tails of your work shirt (keeping it pinned still against your sweaty body), your eyes flicking from her smirking face and down to the taser in her lap.

You knew that you didn't have the option of arguing with her. Or, if you did, you wouldn't survive the outcome.

So, you obediently sank down to your knees for her, pressing your slick thighs together and trying your best to appear composed, as opposed to the shivering mess you felt like.

"You're better behaved than I thought you'd be." She hummed with a slight smile (though you could tell that there was a flicker of disappointment in her gaze too, maybe she had hoped to deal with a rowdy hostage). "Most men are sooooo disobedient for a powerful woman, which is so boring, you know.” Her eyes flicked over your trembling thighs, noting the way they rubbed together as you knelt. 

Her smirk growing wider, Celia then uncrossed her legs, slowly parting them a little more so she could look down at you.

“I'm…pleasantly surprised.” She said softly, smirking even more when your eyes went up, met by the rising hem of her pencil skirt and a flash of her dark panties through her pantyhose. “You just want to make me feel good, don't you? Make me happy…like a good, little dog."

"Y-Yes...ma'am," You murmured, your cheeks burning a little darker as your eyes went down again, not wanting to look, to appear disrespectful.

Celia chuckled at your chivalry, her heel lifting so that she could run the tip of her shoe under your jaw, forcing your face up so you were looking directly at her.

"Look at me," She commanded, her heel then resting against your lower lip, tilting your head up slightly further. "And don't avert your eyes again, understood? You don’t look away from a lady when she’s talking to you. It’s not polite."

"Nhhh..." You groaned softly against the toe of her heel (expensive, patent leather, much better quality than the shoes she had given you), clenching your hands between your trembling thighs, sweat soaking into your shirt as your body grew more and more hot…for whatever reason.

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” She teased, her smirk growing nastier as she moved her heel against your throat, pushing slightly against it and making you swallow tightly. “I’ve barely done anything, and you’re already shaking. Some kind of man you are. Hm!~”

Another chuckle escaped her painted mouth when you let out another whimper, your windpipe tightening slightly as she pressed more pressure against it. 

"Shirt off. Now."

You swallowed hard, unable to resist her order as shaking hands reached up to finish the buttons on your shirt, and shoving it from your shoulders...

Revealing your binder.

“Oh!”

Her eyes then went wide with surprise, sitting back on the desk and pulling her foot away from your throat. and they went wider still as she saw the thick, white material of your binder stretching over and binding your chest.

"How…interesting,” She murmured softly, her spread legs quickly pressing together (almost tightly, too tight to go unnoticed) as she took a firmer grip of the taser in her lap. “But…didn't you say you were a man at the auction house?" She asked, her voice growing from soft and commanding, to teasing and almost spiteful.

"I am a man," You said, your voice shivering, sounding almost like you were telling yourself, just as much as you were telling her, watching as she stood to her feet and paced closer towards you.

Celia just grinned, unexpectedly delighted as she stepped even closer, leaning down and taking a firm grip on the hem of the binder.

"Oh, this is just perfect~" She purred, pulling you into her, your knees aching as you were forced into an uncomfortable squat. "I thought I was getting some worthless, little boy at the auction house, but oh no," She let out a little titter. "I'm getting a cute, little girl instead. How wonderful for me!"

Your face went bright red and you tried to pull backwards.

"I'm not-!" You squeaked, struggling as she pulled you in again. "I'm not a girl!"

Celia’s other hand pressed the cold metal of the taser’s prongs to the underside of your chin, forcing you to look up at her again, the teasing smile never leaving her beautiful face.

“Are you sure about that?” She asked, her eyes narrowing with a cruel gleam (reminding you so clearly of the girls that used to bully you in high school) as she pressed the taser a little harder into the sensitive skin of your jaw. “Because this pretty body looks like it belongs to a girl.”

"I don't...l-look like a girl," You stammered, shivering as she took a firmer grip on your binder, the taser digging into your skin. “P-Please don’t, nh…”

“Don’t? Don’t want, hm?” Celia tilted her head slightly, her long, luscious hair falling over her shoulders, unwaveringly attractive in spite of her brutality (or maybe because of it). “Don’t call you a girl? Don’t play with you like this? But you’re making such a pretty picture right now~! So vulnerable and scared, it’s adorable!”

She giggled, her knee lightly bumping against your chest, before she shoved you back onto your ass, standing above you, her hands on her hips.

“Take your binder off. Show me the girl you really are~”

You whimpered again, biting your lip hard as your eyes started to burn, feeling the beginnings of humiliated tears starting to gather along your lashes. But, unable to argue or worm yourself out of the situation, you hesitantly reached upwards and pulled at the hem of the binder, rolling up the cotton and elastic and revealing your full chest.

You didn’t have any choice, you told yourself, staring at the taser as the tears began to run down your burning cheeks. You had no choice.

“Oh, this is just getting better and better,” She smiled, taking another step closer to you. “Look at that. It really is a shame, you know, pretty girls like you covering themselves up…pretending to be men. My heart breaks for it, truly, it does…”

You tried to inch yourself backwards, to get away from your captor, your bare body scraping along the rough carpet of the office room. But Celia just followed you until you ran out of space, trapping you in the corner of the dusty room, a smirk spreading on her face when you realised that you had nowhere else to go. 

“No running away now, sweet girl.” She smiled, before squatting down to your level. “Now stay still.”

"Mm," Your lips trembled as she slid a hand over your ankle and up your calf, almost stroking your skin admiringly.

“You do have lovely legs,” She murmured, squeezing your calf gently as she slid her hand up towards your knee. “Mm, it would be better if you shaved them though, that’ll be the first thing I make sure of. And thennn…” She drawled, settling down on her knees in front of you. “Just imagine how pretty they’re going to look, all dolled up in some silks, perhaps. Maybe some nylon, or even lace?”

"I-I don't know..." You murmured, quickly pulling your knees up to your chest, away from her touch. “I don’t…want to do that. Boys don’t do that.”

"Oh, don't give me that now," She snapped with a roll of her eyes, grabbing one of your ankles tightly, her nails digging into your soft flesh as she pinned it down against the ground. "We’ve already established that you did a pretty shitty job at trying to be a boy. Which means I get a nice blank slate to work on…mm, well, mostly blank~”

Her harsh grip relaxed slightly, turning back into slow strokes.

“Sooo, we just need to work on making that…spirit of yours a little more obedient, don’t we?” She smirked indulgently, her touch drifting up your calf and towards your thigh. "So, you’re going to say: 'Yes Mistress, that would look so pretty,’ aren’t you? Like a good, little girl.”

A deep, shameful heat was set alight in your core, making it twist and tighten painfilly, and your expression grimaced before you could stop it.

Celia’s smirk faltered slightly as she noted your face twitching, her manicured nails digging further into your thigh as she leaned into you, her face inches from your own

“You’re going to say. ‘Yes. Mistress’.” She snapped, her tone harsher than before. “Do it. Now.”

"Y-Yes...Mistress," You whispered, your voice as small as you could make it, head sinking down slightly against your chest.

“Good girl, there we go,” She praised with a smile, her grip shifting from your thigh and sliding up to the underside of your jaw, forcing your face up to hers again. “And what are you going to say next?”

"That...would look s-so pretty," You said, your head feeling more and more hot as you spoke.

“That’s much better, sweetheart. Very good.” Celia murmured. "You know...I'd gone to that auction to get some of my frustrations out. Find some...man," She said through a tight sneer. "To break down and hurt as much as I pleased, they’ve done more than enough to deserve it. Oh, but I found you instead," She smiled like a switch had been triggered in her mind, though her grip did not relent on the taser. "A sweet little thing who was just hiding from me. It's nice how things work out, isn't it?"

You were quiet as she spoke, keeping your eyes locked down on the taser at her side, before switching back to her, unable to really give her an answer to her question.

After a moment, she chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“And you know the best thing? I know you won’t fight me on this. And you know you won’t either.” She tittered again, her hand smoothing down your chest with a little sigh, eyes narrowing with poorly concealed lust. “I know you don’t have the balls to fight me.”

You cringed at her phrasing, feeling all the more ashamed knowing that she was certainly right about you, that you wouldn’t fight her.

Even if she didn’t have the taser, you probably wouldn’t have fought her.

“Well, maybe that’s not totally the best thing,” She then murmured lowly, the hand on your chest slowly curling to cup one of your breasts, her pencil skirt now having completely ridden up and showing the waistband of her pantyhose. It was a pretty tantalising sight, even if she was insane. “Maybe, the best thing is knowing how much you’re enjoying yourself, too~”

"I...mm," You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as she touched you, a manicured fingernail idly teasing the bud of your nipple as her body inched closer to yours, forcing your legs to spread to accommodate her.

“Do you like this?” She purred, her other hand reaching down as she pressed the heel of her palm against the front of your boxers, feeling the wet heat underneath. “Ohhh, I think you do. I don’t think you really liked being a man, did you? You just felt like you had to…like so many of us girls do, just to get by in this world, hm?”

“Ngh,” You tried to shift your legs together but found your resolve to resist her weakening all the more, by the second.

“Yes, that’s it,” She murmured encouragingly, idly squeezing your flesh with both hands, teasing each bud of pure white pleasure until you were shivering desperately against her, seeking her, even if it made you feel bad afterwards. “But I hope that I’m convincing you that being a girl is a much better decision for you. Don’t you think girls are pretty, sweetheart? Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

"You're...v-very pretty," You admitted softly, your hips bucking against her palm.

“Mm, thank you, my darling, but I’m much more than just pretty. That’s your job, isn’t it? To be my pretty, little girl, and nothing else?~" Celia chuckled, suddenly pressing two fingers to the ‘gusset’ (because how else would you describe it) of your boxers, feeling the wetness at its source. "Such pretty eyes, such a pretty face…what a pity you're wasting it by pretending to be a man."

"Hhh..." You breathed out, trembling even more as she touched you, your thighs tensing either side of her and gripping the carpet in curled fists.

“Oh, I’m really going to enjoy you,” She purred, leaning in even closer so her face was only an inch away from yours, her long hair falling over and brushing your shoulders. “You’re just going to be a pretty, little doll for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

"Oh god," You murmured, your face heating up even more as you hid in your palms. "D-Don't...say something like that...hhh..."

“But it’s true,” She chuckled, her breath hot against your skin as she brought her lips to brush your jaw, her tongue darting out slightly to drag along your skin, tasting your sweat, your fear, your pure arousal. “You want to be good, you want to do as I say, and you especially want me to be happy, don’t you?”

"Nhhh..." You groaned as her tongue dragged along your jaw and down your neck.

“Now now, don’t whine,” She scolded, her tone warning and worryingly matron-like. “I didn’t give you permission to do that.”

The hand between your legs idly pulled your boxers to the side then, revealing your wet and puffy labia to the cool air of the office and letting her touch you without the barrier of moist cotton in the way, the drag of her smooth fingers feeling like heaven between your hot folds.

“Say it for me, sweet girl. Say ‘I’ll be a pretty doll for you, Mistress’.”

"F-Fuck, mm," Your brain felt like it was short circuiting as one hand reached out, desperately, to cling to her shoulder (surprised when she let you do that much), your thighs clenching on either side of her body, suddenly breathing quite hard. "I'll...nhh..."

“Come on,” She murmured, bringing her lips to your ear. “All of it, or I’m going to shock you.”

You felt your body tense up when you felt the sudden sharp press of the taser against the soft flesh of your inner thigh, your wide eyes pulling back to meet hers, only finding a coy and almost innocent expression, like she was pulling an especially mean prank on.

"I'll…”

“All of it~” She reminded you again, more pressure on the taser.

“Mm,” You breathed out a little sigh through your nose, squeezing your eyes together tightly. “I’ll…be a pretty d-doll for you, Mistress..." 

You felt a sudden blunt force against your cunt and your bloodshot eyes widened agains as you felt Celia force the taser (prong side down, thank GOD) inside of you, your cunt swallowing it hungrily in spite of the agonising force behind the firm plastic.

“Good girl,” She drawled with a smug smile, her voice thick with praise and satisfaction like artificial syrup, nuzzling her cheek against your temple. “And you’ll be the perfect doll for me, won’t you? You’ll let me dress you however I like, shape you however I like…isn’t that right, doll?”

"Uuuh huuuh," You whined, your voice pitched up and dumb and your entire body trembling as she forced the taser deeper inside you, her thumb rubbing circles around your clit as she did so, giving you something to enjoy while she invaded your insides.

"Soooo, when I say you're going to put some weight on around your butt and hips," She grinned against your cheek, pushing the taser somehow deeper inside of you (while still having a firm grip of the end of it). "And grow your hair out, so you look like a real girl again, what does my doll say?"

"Yes Mistress," You drawled, breathing hard as your head tilted back against the office wall, feeling the nonconsenting pleasure and heat of it behind your eyes. "Nnf, yes Mistress-!"

“Oh, this is just too good,” She drawled, suddenly grinding her hips against your thigh as she started to thrust the taser in and out of you, breathing hard against your skin as her hips gyrated in time with her brutal thrusts, like she was pretending to fuck you in place of it. ."S-Stick your tongue out for me, doll."

“Ahhh…”Your lips parted obediently and you stuck your tongue out for her.

Celia let out a short huff of breath, a small shiver going through her (to which she grimaced, almost as if a shiver was giving away too much vulnerability) as her own breath got hotter, before she leaned even closer and slowly licked up the side of your tongue, a perverted (fetishised) facsimile of a kiss.

"Nn, good doll..." She groaned into the messy kiss..

"Nhhh," You moaned mindlessly against her lips, as she kissed you like a woman starved of it (and maybe she was), your eyelids fluttering as your eyes crossed, your cunt clenching tightly around the length of the taser as she continued to tease your clit and oversensitive nipples, your body just growing tighter and more wanting of relief underneath hers. 

The hand on your chest dipped down and grabbed your hip, giving herself a firmer object to grind against and digging in hard enough to leave marks. Her tongue forced its way into your mouth, a hot, heavy mass of writhing muscle as she leaned against you, panting against your parted lips.

"Nn..." She managed to breathe, her voice almost desperate. "You don’t know how happy this makes me, doll. I’ve only just got you, and you’re already such a good girl...hah…”

"Mm..." You shivered, keening forward to lap at her mouth, hungry for her, any preconceived shame abandoned in the pursuit of her twisted rendition of pleasure.

“Ah-ah,” Celia breathed out a mean chuckle, pulling back from your mouth and daintily wiping a small bit of saliva from her chin, fixing her smudged lipstick. “Down, girl. You still need to behave…”

She chuckled again at the sight of your flushed, needy face, tossing her hair from her own flushed cheeks, like a model in an especially pornographic shampoo commercial. 

“You’re so cute…just makes me want to eat you up~”

You licked your lips with a dazed expression, both wanting to keen in for her and to stay still, to play the good girl she wanted you to be.

“Good girl,” She murmured (because you’d made the right choice in staying still), taking your chin between her thumb and forefinger and tugging it forward, (nudging the taser just a little deeper and making you whine for more). “You’re not used to being a girl, are you, sweetness? I can tell. You need a little guidance…but that’s alright. I’ll help you with that. I’ll help you with every step.”

She smirked, gently rubbing the drool from your bottom lip and smearing it into your skin. 

“You’ll be my new personal assistant, first of all, and you’ll help me with my day to day tasks in a cute outfit like mine…then, I’ll promote you to be my maid.” She listed with growing glee in her eyes. “With the uniform and all…oh, you’re going to look cute as a button!”

You breathed harder as the pacing of the hard thrusts picked up, staring dumbly up at her in silent agreement as you drooled, mindlessly, your head lost in pleasure.

"And then," She said, bringing her smiling face close to yours, close enough that she must have been able to feel the heat from your body, smell your sweat, just as you could smell her perfume, sweet and musky. "When you've gotten rid of my husband...I'll make you my little housewife~"

She grinned and gave your drooling lips a quick little kiss, pushing the taser to its very deepest inside of you.

Your eyes, once again, shot wide at the painful intrusion, and you cried out, tipping your head back, as you were forced into an excruciatingly tight climax, all over her fingers.

"Won't that be just perfect?~"

[twoheartswrites]

Gavin: Listen here, pretty boy-

Reader: You think I’m pretty?

Gavin: It’s an INSULT, idiot.

Reader: You think being pretty is an insult? Oh honey, who hurt you?

…An hour later…

Gavin, crying: And then my father threw out all my dolls-

Reader, patting his arm: Let it out, let it out.

[beanghostprincess]

There's a trans character in Wind Breaker and nobody was going to tell me?????

[shk0lstun-flagz]

Tomboy - a girl (or nby) who is “boyish” / GNC (masculine/androgynous) in expression or behavior

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

Janegirl - a boy (or nby) who is “girlish” / GNC (feminine/androgynous) in expression or behavior

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

[deszczowedni]

💦💦💦

[miguel-owhora]

my account is an ultra exclusive black card, top tier one of a kind; fem-aligned, minors, blanks, or folks without their pronouns and/or age in their bios who attempt to get in will get caught and annihilated on the spot.

[moiraimyths]

Before we call anon rude because let’s see it from their perspective, imagine getting an entire feast to eat. That can be pretty hard to start with so much that’s going on, but if they start with one thing they know they’ll like (aka one character they like) that can be the start for them leaping to other characters to finish the story and the bigger story. I struggle the same way to start book series if I don’t have at least one character that drives me to read it, it’s all about what can be the hook to push them through. Sounds like the anon is neurodivergent (just a guess) so they might genuinely not see it as rude and see it as a solution to even play the game to start with.

Btw absolutely adore the game, the complex and rich characters making them all so unique is amazing. The art is so pleasing to the eyes I love it!! I’m waiting for it all to get out at once so I don’t get too impatient. Shae however interests me the most, which routes will have the most lore for them? Will there be routes that give more lore in general based on decisions you make or do they all share the same amount? (I mean general lore not just Shae lore)

Apologies; we are not trying to accuse any asker of being rude! We are simply explaining our perspective as the developers / are trying to broadly encourage folks to dip their toes into other areas of the story outside of the main route(s) they're interested in, especially considering some routes will be made available sooner than others, and these other routes will likely contain additional scenes/lore of everyone's fave(s) regardless! We want to give each main cast member an equal amount of love (and lore) regardless of their overall popularity, so our goal is not to tut-tut anyone for having strong preferences for one character over the others, but rather to explain that you may be surprised by how much *more* you learn about your preferred characters in the other routes. That's all!

For Shae... Well, they were a foot soldier for one of the worst periods of the War. Lore wise, any other story that touches on the War will likely have content relevant to them and their experiences. ^^